I’m so used to doing things the way they’re supposed to be done that when faced with the desire to do what shouldn’t be done I melt into an indecisive, inconsolable spill on the floor which must then be mopped up, because that is what’s supposed to be done. And it isn’t like what “shouldn’t” be done should necessarily not be done; it’s just that the thing that’s harder than what is usually done feels like an insurmountable obstacle of incompatibility with the way I’ve been doing things—what makes the new thing so goddamned special when I’ve already found a stride, a rhythm, a process that works?
I’ve always wanted to believe that it all came together because I chose wisely when pushed or pulled at the uncontrollable whims of a pattern of outside circumstance but the truth is that this is no leaf-blowing-in-the-wind scenario. I am not that person. I engineered all of this, all the way down to the same five pairs of socks I wear throughout the work week. I move slowly and methodically and an oddly large number of people in my life find it sexy but the need to preserve now just feels like an addiction wherein I have traded the more interesting indiscretions of my youth for a stability that is rewarding in all ways except for one.
And it isn’t like if I suddenly chose to do thing that “shouldn’t” be done things won’t eventually settle like jumbled letters in a shaken boggle. After the initial shock people would find new patterns to slip into and a generalized form of acceptance would ensue because there would be no other choice. We are all social creatures and that more often lends itself to sticking with what should be done but when we chose something different those who truly love us will accept the disturbance in the force and learn to shut the fuck up about how we’ve made them feel uncomfortable. I already know that I am not in charge of these things…
… so why should it be so damn hard to move in that direction? It must be habit. Habitually do I nestle myself into my side of the bed every night and we share a laugh before we trail off. Habitually do I say we should blah or thank you, that makes us happy. Habitually do I reach and wrastle and crack the jokes and observe the funny diagnoses of the beyond-home happenings that are never compelling enough to re-engineer what happens inside. Habitually do I say I love you back when I know that those words mean very different things to the two of us. Habitually do we move forward in life together because that is the thing that is supposed to be done.
I sat on my good reasons for way too long and now they are gone. Things got better and that is a shame because now the addict within clings to the habit. Emotionally I am finished and I already know that I can’t go back but I don’t get to just say that things are wrong because something doesn’t feel right. I keep thinking that perhaps I could plot and plan and tool my way to harmony among the two worlds but that isn’t something I get to do by myself and it isn’t like me to reach out and ask. So for now I hide out in the back corner, hoping that one day I will sober up and lend myself to the more becoming yet difficult thing. I’ll habitually deceive and silently wobble; feign satisfaction with being eaten alive; waste the time and blow the resources, waiting for the myth to boil away.